CURRENT ISSUE - 2.3
WRITE THE WORLD WEBSITE
RED AND GOLD
by VIVIAN ZHI (Canada)
My words can be a sense of comfort, a feeling of being understood, a thought, an awakening.
by ANNIE KIRKPATRICK (United States)
Rice piled on my plate like a cold white ant bed. Mom adjusted her glasses again.
by ANYA WILSON (Ireland)
When I arrive home, there are men outside our cottage. But these are not my dada's friends.
by LYAT MELESE (United States)
Change is unexpected.
Like the day I was told we were moving to America.
THE RAIN AND THE REVERIE
by TULA SINGER (Cuba)
My mother came into the kitchen with a blank face. "We're leaving," she said. "We're going to move in with Ahmad in New York."
MY PARENTS CONSIDER WHAT THEY'LL DO WITH THEIR REMAINS
by OTTAVIA PALUCH (Canada)
But not as quickly as water.
YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FROM ALABAMA
by LEE GAINES (United States)
you have learned there is both good and bad about where you live.
you have learned the stubbornest people on the planet are Southern.
WE NEED A DOG
by EVE DONALDSON (United Kingdom)
"But Dad, a dog is the animal for me -
I'll take him for walks and I'll make him his tea."
A TAKEN SEAT AT AN EMPTY TABLE
by AMALIA COSTA (United Kingdom)
We act like we're pleasantly thrust together instead of a family bound by grief and love.
by MAY ZHENG (United States)
Air sticks to my skin,
like honey. mosquitos circle my ankles and wrists
WHEN I LEAVE
by SIRIN JITKLONGSUB (Thailand)
These are the scents I will take with me when I leave this house.